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“Just Banner,” he corrected, letting his hand fall to his side.
“Oh.” Strange, but anyway… “I’m Lucy Guerin. I’m on my way to Springfield, Missouri, to spend Christmas with my family. Why don’t the rest of you introduce yourselves?”
She knew she sounded like a too-perky cruise director, but the man who called himself “just Banner” was making her nervous, lurking glumly in the doorway like that. She turned to the mother and children behind her. “What are your names?”
The woman’s face paled, as if she had been asked to make an impromptu speech in front of a large audience. The shy type, apparently—which Lucy had never been.
“I’m, um, Joan Gatewood,” the woman finally murmured. “These are my children, Tyler and Tricia. We’re going to my mother’s house in Hollister, Missouri, for the holiday.”
“I’m Cordell Carter,” the older man said, smoothing a spotted hand over his mostly bald head. “Everyone calls me Pop. This is Annie, my wife of sixty-two years. We’re on our way to Harrison to our grandson’s house.”
“Sixty-two years of marriage,” Lucy repeated in wonder. “Mrs. Carter, you must have been a child bride.”
The old woman’s weary eyes brightened with her smile, which still held hints of the mischievous grin that had likely captivated her husband sixty-two years ago—and apparently still did. “I was twenty-three. And you can just call me Miss Annie. Everyone always has. ‘Mrs. Carter’ reminds me of my mother-in-law, and I never cared much for her, God rest her contrary soul.”
Her husband chuckled and patted his wife’s shoulder indulgently, seeming to take no offense to the slight to his late mother. After so many years, Lucy figured he must have gotten used to it.
“I’m Bobby Ray Jones,” the big truck driver volunteered. “I was headed the opposite direction from the rest of you—s’posed to be in Little Rock by tonight. I’d hoped I could beat the storm, but I guess I miscalculated. My boss is going to be ticked off that I put the rig in a ditch, but that’s just too bad, I guess.”
Lucy noted that Joan Gatewood was eying the big, bearded man with the same wariness she displayed toward Banner’s huge dog. Apparently Joan was intimidated by large, hairy critters. As for herself, Lucy thought Bobby Ray seemed very pleasant. Everyone here seemed nice—with the possible exception of their glowering host.
“Okay,” she said, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Now that we know who everyone is….”
“What’s the dog’s name?” Tyler asked, pointing to the mutt.
Lucy looked questioningly at Banner.
“That’s Hulk,” he said, speaking to the boy. “He answers to Hulk or Get-Out-From-Under-My-Feet-Stupid.”
The unexpected quip took everyone by such surprise that there was a brief hesitation before they laughed. Though Lucy smiled, she wasn’t entirely sure Banner had been joking.
Returning to the task at hand, she said, “Now, we all need to get into dry clothes and—wait a minute.”
She whirled back to their host, her hands on her hips. “Your name is Banner and the dog’s name is Hulk? I don’t suppose your first name is Bruce?”
“No.” He looked at her without smiling. “You haven’t wandered into a comic book.”
No kidding. Despite the joke he had just made, she hadn’t seen this guy crack a smile since they had arrived. He obviously had a warped sense of humor, but he did a good job of hiding it.
Shaking her head, she turned back to the others. “We need dry clothes and a telephone so we can call our families and let them know we’re safe.”
“Mommy, I’m hungry,” Tricia said, tugging at her mother’s damp blouse.
“I’ll start a pot of soup or something,” Banner said, and once again he sounded glumly resigned. “The telephone is on that table. Make yourselves at home.”
As he turned away, Lucy thought she heard him add beneath his breath, “It’s not as if there’s any other choice.”
Chapter Two
Following the scents of food, Lucy wandered into the kitchen a short time later. She had changed into a dark-red sweater and dry jeans, and her feet were clad in thick red socks. She’d left her boots by the fire to dry.
Still wearing the damp jeans and gray sweatshirt he’d worn earlier, though he had kicked off his rubberized boots, Banner stood at the stove, stirring something in a large stockpot.
“That smells delicious. What is it?”
“Vegetable-beef soup,” he answered without turning around. “I hope no one’s a vegetarian. If they are, I’ll rustle up something else.”
She peered over his shoulder into the pot. “That looks homemade.”
“It is. I had a couple of containers stashed in the freezer. All I had to do was thaw and heat.” A timer dinged, and he reached for an oven mitt, then bent to pull a large pan of corn bread from the oven. It smelled as good as the soup.
Lucy stared at Banner in astonishment. “You made all of this?”
He shrugged. “I like to eat, and I’m the only one here to do the cooking.”
“I see.”
“Where’s everyone else?”
Just as he spoke, a heavy gust of wind threw ice pellets against the kitchen window. The lights flickered but remained on.
Relieved that they hadn’t been plunged into darkness, Lucy released the breath she had been holding. “Pop and Miss Annie are changing clothes in your bedroom. Joan and the children are using the guest room. Bobby Ray waited while I changed in the bathroom, and now he’s in there.”
“I’m surprised he fit.”
Lucy laughed. The bathroom was rather small and Bobby Ray was notably large. But Banner wasn’t smiling. Did he ever?
One half of the big country kitchen served as a dining room. A double trestle oak table filled most of the area on the other side of a sit-down bar fitted with two oak stools. The table was surrounded by six ladder-back oak chairs—a lot of seating space for a man who lived alone, she mused. “Would you like me to set the table?”
He pointed. “Dishes are in that cabinet.”
Lucy carried an armload of functional brown stoneware to the dining area. She paused to run a hand appreciatively over the smooth surface of the table. Bending, she studied the solid but graceful pedestals, then took a moment to admire one of the beautifully contoured chairs. She glanced up to find Banner watching her, and she smiled a bit self-consciously.
“I have a thing for nice furniture,” she admitted, “and you have some beautiful pieces. This dining set is wonderful. And that rocker in the living room is gorgeous. And I couldn’t help but notice the tables in the living room and the furniture in the bedrooms. So much nice wood.”
“Thanks.” He turned back to the stove.
She stroked a hand over the smooth grain of the tabletop again, envying him the opportunity to do so every day. “I really admire the quality of this dining set. Do you mind if I ask where you shop for your furniture?”
“My shop’s back behind the house.”
“No, I meant—wait a minute. You made this set?”
“Yeah.” He tasted the soup, nodded, then set the spoon in the sink.
“And the other furniture? You made all of it?”
“My great-uncle made the furniture in the bedrooms. I built the rocker and tables in the living room.”
She rubbed her hand over the back of a chair again, loving the feel of the wood. “Is this what you do for a living? Build furniture?”
“Mostly outdoor furniture. Swings, Adirondack chairs, outdoor rockers. The stuff that’s sold in tourist towns like Branson and Eureka Springs and Mountain View.”
“You’re very talented.”
“Thanks. The food’s ready. I guess we should bring everyone in.”
He cooked and he built furniture. But he didn’t make small talk, Lucy decided. Who was this guy?
It was a subdued group that gathered around the beautiful table a few minutes later. Bobby Ray had given Miss Annie his arm for the short walk to the table, but she looked so tired that Lucy worried about her. The storm still raged outside, making the lights flicker periodically, and she knew everyone was wondering when they could leave this place. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and there were places they all wanted to be for the holidays.
Banner wasn’t by any means a jovial, put-everyone-at-ease type host. He sat in silence at the head of the table, eating his soup and corn bread without looking up much. Was it possible that he was shy? Or just not particularly friendly?
Joan and the children sat at one side of the table, opposite Lucy and the Carters. The kids had pulled the bar stools to the table, raising them high enough to easily reach their soup bowls and keeping them close to their mother.
They were quiet, well-behaved children, Lucy mused. Perhaps they took their behavioral cues from their mother, who seemed to take great pains not to call attention to herself. Was she simply shy—or someone who had been beaten down by circumstances until there was little spirit left in her?
It seemed that it was again up to Lucy to try to raise everyone’s spirits. “Did you all get through to your families to let them know you’re safe?” she asked the table at large.
She was answered with a silent round of nods.
Okay, new tactic. She smiled at Tyler. “How old are you, Tyler? I would guess around seven.”
“I’ll be eight in February,” he replied.
A complete sentence. She was making progress. “So you’re in second grade?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m in kindergarten,” Tricia supplied, not to be left out.
“Are you? Do you like it?” Lucy asked encouragingly.
Tricia nodded. “My teacher’s nice. I like music time best.”
“Where do you live?” Lucy looked at Joan this time, hoping to draw her into the conversation.
“We’re from Mayflower,” Joan murmured. “That’s north of Little Rock…”
“I know where Mayflower is,” Lucy said with a smile. “I live in Conway, practically next door to you.”
“Mother and I have a little place outside of Jacksonville,” Pop supplied, patting his wife’s hand. “We’ve lived there more than forty years.”
Lucy wondered about the wisdom of a man in his mid-eighties making a three-hour drive in an old pickup truck, especially in weather that had promised to be cold and rainy at best. What was his family thinking to let him make that trip?
Because that was really none of her business, Lucy spoke to Bobby Ray. “Do you live in Little Rock or was that a business stop?”
“I live there. I was hoping to make it home this evening. But my boss just told me on the phone that the weather guys are saying it could be day after tomorrow before the roads are passable.”
“Day after tomorrow?” Tyler’s eyes widened in alarm. “But that’s Christmas! We can’t stay here until Christmas!”
“What about Santa Claus?” Tricia looked at her mother in dismay. “We told him we would be at Grandma’s house. He’s s’posed to come tomorrow.”
Lucy noted that Banner’s face was showing new signs of strain in the form of deep lines around his stern mouth. Not only had his home been invaded by a group of strangers, but those strangers were all making it quite clear that they would rather be somewhere else. She couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him.
“Don’t worry about Santa Claus,” Joan told her children. “Even if he can’t come see you tomorrow night, he’ll make a special trip as soon as we’ve settled somewhere.”
The children still looked crestfallen, and Lucy couldn’t blame them. Now the general mood around the table was depressed again.
“Banner, this soup is delicious,” she said, determinedly cheerful. “You’re an excellent cook.”
“Thanks.”
“Mother’s a wonderful cook,” Pop said, trying to help Lucy with the conversation. “Barbecued chicken, pork chops, spare ribs. And her pies—best coconut cream pie in the whole world. Her chocolate pie’s good, too.”
“Don’t cook as much as I used to,” Miss Annie murmured, glancing at her gnarled hands. “I still like to cook fresh vegetables in the summertime, though.”
“We used to grow all our own vegetables,” Pop added. “Had a big ol’ garden back behind the house. Can’t do it much anymore, now that the arthritis has gotten so bad. Still put some tomato plants in every spring, though.”
Miss Annie gave him a sweet smile. “Pop loves his fresh sliced tomatoes.”
Lucy watched the exchange between the couple with a wistful envy. Sixty-two years of marriage, she thought. Children, grandchildren, companionship and memories.
She wanted that for herself. As her twenty-eighth birthday approached, she found herself thinking about it more and more. She was perfectly capable of supporting herself and taking care of herself, but she wanted the fairy tale. The husband and children who loved her and who she could adore in return. The happily-ever-after. The sixty-second wedding anniversary.
The only thing holding her back was the fact that she was having a great deal of difficulty finding anyone she actually wanted to marry.
“Does anyone want more soup?” Banner asked gruffly, drawing her attention back to him.
Gosh, he was gorgeous, she thought, sighing a little as she admired the way the overhead light gleamed in his thick, dark hair. But good looks alone weren’t enough to put a guy on her prospect list, as she knew from several disastrous dates with very attractive—and completely unsuitable—men.
No one wanted more soup.
“Let me clean the kitchen,” Joan offered shyly, glancing at Banner and then quickly away. “You’ve been so generous to all of us. I’d like to help out.”
“I’ll help,” Lucy offered.
“Let me help you back to the living room, Miss Annie,” Bobby Ray said, pushing away from the table.
“Actually, I think I’d like to lie down for a few minutes,” Miss Annie replied, her smile weary. “Would that be all right with you, Mr. Banner?”
“Just call me Banner, ma’am.” Lucy noted that he spoke to the old woman with a respectful warmth that was notably missing in his brief dealings with his other guests. “You’re welcome to use my room for as long as you’re here. There are plenty of other places where I can sleep.”
Miss Annie beamed at him. “Thank you. You’re a very kind young man.”
Lucy was fascinated to see the faintest touch of red appear briefly on Banner’s tanned cheeks. Were compliments that rare for him?
Tricia was growing tired, too, and stressed by the changes in her routines and holiday plans. She began to whine, and when her brother taunted her about it, a squabble began.
